


Best Served Cold

by RonsGirlFriday



Series: The Battle We Still Fight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonsGirlFriday/pseuds/RonsGirlFriday
Summary: Ron had Bellatrix right where he wanted her.Finally, he would make her pay.First installment in the Battle We Still Fight series.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: The Battle We Still Fight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559644
Kudos: 18





	Best Served Cold

He had her right where he wanted her.

The foul excuse for a human being had finally made a mistake. She was unarmed, trapped, vulnerable, though she certainly didn't act like it. She glared at him with heavy eyes, taunting him.

"You stupid child, what do you think you're going to do, exactly?"

His wand hand shook, wobbling every which way as though being pulled in all directions by competing magnets. He struggled to keep it aimed at her heart. He was going to do this.

He could do it. He had to. What was stopping him?

He remembered the look on Percy's face as Percy had taken off running after the explosion. There was not a doubt in his mind that his brother was murdering someone right now. Well, if that desk jockey nerd could do it, so could Ron.

Someone was going to feel _his_ pain and _his_ rage.

All around was chaos, spells ricocheting off walls and floors, smoke rising from shattered stone, people running, crying, terror, anger, hatred, anguish…

And screaming. Yelling and shouting and screaming on all sides, up the corridor in one direction and down another…and nobody noticed, in the midst of it all, a skinny boy, deadly silent, contemplating how best to make this flesh and blood nightmare pay the price.

The screams rang in his ears, but he barely heard them. They might have been a thousand miles away.

Inside his head, a different scream echoed. It was piercing and clear as a bell, a despairing shriek that moved to his chest and then into his stomach, where it dropped like a boulder and made him feel sick. It carried the agony and suffering of the world, but he was the only one who heard it.

He couldn't help her, he was so sorry, he tried, but he couldn't get to her…

He gripped his wand more tightly and gritted his teeth as the echoes sliced through his heart. The scornful witch in front of him narrowed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as she watched the distress flash across his face.

"That's not a toy, you filthy blood traitor brat. Do you even know how to use it?"

"SHUT UP!"

And she did shut up, as if hit with a Silencing Charm. He didn't even register it as odd. It made perfect sense, as did the sudden look of apprehension on her face and the unnatural steadiness of his hand. Everything fell into place, every piece was where it belonged.

Checkmate, bitch.

He smiled then - a deranged, absolutely unhinged smile - as he answered her first question.

"I am going to kill you."

He said it softly, calmly, as though he were explaining two plus two to a four year-old.

He began to raise his wand.

"Ronald," said a placid soprano voice off to his right, "she'll just Blibber away, you know. You shouldn't Humding a Snorkack when it goes spelunking."

He didn't know what Luna was doing there, and he didn't care. He didn't even look at her, just caught a glimpse of her dirty blonde hair out of the corner of his eye.

He ignored her and opened his mouth to say the incantation, though his wand hand now felt like lead and wouldn't obey him when he tried to bring it back. Bellatrix just stared at him.

"Ron," said Neville, who had appeared on his left, his tone imploring and his brow creased with concern, "what are you doing?"

Ron threw Neville a quick look. "Oh, I'm sorry, Neville. Where are my manners? _You_ should do it," he replied savagely. He gestured with his left hand for his friend to step in, even while he kept his wand trained on his target. "Go ahead, Neville."

But Neville was gone, and Hermione was tugging on his sleeve. "Stop," she pleaded. "Ron, stop."

Screaming. Begging for it to stop. More screaming.

Why wouldn't his hand move? His breathing grew labored and irregular as he fought against his resisting arm. It was frozen, absolutely paralyzed.

But where was Harry?

Dead, of course. He knew that. That was why he had to finish it.

Something told him that he couldn't. Yet another something told him that he had to. He couldn't just leave her - too dangerous, she had to be finished. And there was still the screaming...

His wand twitched.

Hermione grasped his left arm and pulled with all her might. "Ron, don't," she begged. "Ron… _Ron!_ "

_Ron…_

_Ron…_

"Ron..." 

He woke to find himself being nearly shoved off the the bed.

"Huh, what?" He started and lunged instinctively for his wand on the nightstand, disoriented and drenched in cold sweat, his hair matted against his forehead.

Mission accomplished, Hermione's arm fell to her side. "It's your turn," she mumbled, half-awake and wholly exhausted. She shifted and pulled the covers over her head.

"Huh?" The dream was still vivid in his mind, and reality still a bit hazy.

She groaned, her voice muffled under the covers. "It's your turn, I did it last night."

Right.

Rose was crying - loudly, he realized, now that he had finally connected with the real world. He couldn't believe he'd been sleeping through it.

He glanced at the clock: three in the morning. He was amazed the kid had managed to stay asleep that long. Hermione had been up five times with her the night before. And three times the night before that.

With his wand restored to its peaceful place on the nightstand, he dragged himself out of bed, plucked Rose from her crib, and sleepwalked into the other room.

It had clearly been a plea for attention - she stopped crying almost immediately after he picked her up. But he held her for a while, pacing back and forth, willing himself not to keel over and fall asleep right there. Really, he was glad to have been woken up. He was in no hurry to get back to the dream that always left his breathing unsteady and his stomach unsettled.

Shaking off a residual chill, he looked down at his daughter, content once more after having successfully conned her dad into waking up at a most unholy hour.

"You know, pixie," he whispered, speaking more to himself than to Rose, "it had to be done, but sometimes I'm really glad your Nana was the one to do it."

**Author's Note:**

>  _A/N: This was previously written by me as part of_ The Final Battle _site collab at HPFF in 2010. I am posting it now on its own, as the springboard for a one-shot series I plan to write called_ The Battle We Still Fight, _which will explore different characters' experiences and perspectives in the post-Hogwarts era and Next Generation, as they try to deal with the traumas of the Second Wizarding War. Up next will be a George-centric fic._


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